


Superiority of Action

by Calacious



Category: General Hospital
Genre: Chinese Food, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fireworks, First Kiss, Fortune Cookies, M/M, character death in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 18:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spinelli hasn't had an appetite since Jason faked his own death, and, now that the man's returned to Port Charles, the taste of betrayal is still strong on Spinelli's tongue. Can he forgive the man for not trusting him, or will there always be a wedge of betrayal and deceit between them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superiority of Action

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suerum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suerum/gifts).



> Inspired by my actual fortune cookie message in a fortune cookie that I got from Panda Express. No copyright infringement intended. Panda Express owns the words of that fortune cookie, and the characters of this work of fiction are not mine either. 
> 
> Comments are welcome.

His fortune cookie reads: “The superior person is modest in speech but exceeds in action.” He’s not sure what to make of that. He’s not a man of action – Jason is.

 

Spinelli, however, is a man of words. He’s good at using them to sway others, and to defend himself. They are his weapon of choice. Except, right now, when he really needs them, they seem to be escaping him.

 

Spinelli pushes his mapu doufu away, and frowns at the coffee table. He glances at Jason, who seems oblivious to anything but his sweet and sour chicken, tucking into it like a man who’d been half-starved for most of his life.

 

Spinelli hasn’t had much of an appetite lately. Not after Jason’s sudden reappearance in Port Charles – coming back, quite literally, from the dead – and Maxie’s, as well as her unborn baby’s, death. He just hasn’t been able to eat. The very thought of food turning his stomach.

 

Not hungry, Spinelli places his chopsticks into their paper sleeve and closes up the Styrofoam container housing his entrée of choice. He takes a sip of his orange soda, and, closing his eyes, he relishes the sweet nectar of the gods. It’s been a long time since he and Jason have done something simple like this – have dinner together.

 

“Not hungry?”

 

Spinelli can hear Jason’s frown, and he sighs, shaking his head. He leans back; keeping his eyes closed, and is surprised when a hand, rather than the cushion of the couch, intercepts him. Opening his eyes, he turns his own frown on Jason, and is surprised to find the other man watching him with a look of concern.

 

“I’m fine,” he says, biting his lip, and shrugging.

 

Jason runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. “No, Spinelli, you’re not.”

 

“The Jackal is most certainly fine,” Spinelli says, irritated.

 

Though, really, Jason’s right, and he hasn’t been fine. Not since before Jason disappeared and not since he’s returned. Maxie’s and her unborn child’s death had been the proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back, and Spinelli didn’t know if he’d ever be able to work through the pain, and the sorrow, the betrayal he felt at Jason’s faked death – the fact that the man hadn’t trusted him, his most faithful acolyte, with the truth.

 

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Jason counters, and he pierces Spinelli with a hard, searching look that makes Spinelli feel like his insides are squirming. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you eat a full meal.”

 

Spinelli shrugs, and picks at the edge of his tee-shirt. It’s frayed, and he works at a loose string, intent on unraveling it enough so that he can eventually snap it off without having to use scissors. It keeps him from having to look at Jason, who’s watching him with those intense, blue eyes that make him feel as though he’s being sundered body from soul. It’s unnerving, and Spinelli can feel Jason’s scrutiny, like it’s a living, breathing thing. He hates this, but at the same time, doesn’t know what he’d do without it, because at least it gives him the illusion that someone cares.

 

If Jason had cared, he wouldn’t have left him in Port Charles, alone. He’d have told Spinelli that he was going to disappear for a while. He wouldn’t have left him alone, mourning his death.

 

“Spinelli,” Jason’s voice is quiet, tense, and, reluctantly, Spinelli raises his eyes. Jason’s thumb is rubbing a pattern along the outer edge of Spinelli’s shoulder, comforting and easing some of the tension that Spinelli’s been holding there.

 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Jason coaxes.

 

Spinelli doesn’t want to tell Jason that he feels betrayed, and angry, that the man’s death almost killed him, but he finds himself watching Jason’s lips, mesmerized by them. And, he’s answering them, more than the words that Jason’s spoken when he opens his own mouth, licking his lips nervously before he speaks, “Nothing, nothing’s wrong.”

 

Jason’s forehead scrunches, and his lips tug downward as his frown deepens. Clearly, the man isn’t taking Spinelli’s denial at face value. Spinelli swallows, throat and mouth suddenly dry. His palms are sweaty though, and his head is spinning. Maybe Jason’s onto something with his claim that Spinelli isn’t getting enough to eat.

 

Spinelli takes a deep breath, but it does nothing to calm his frayed nerves. Instead, he’s finding it more and more difficult to breathe, and Jason’s lips are moving, but there’s no sound coming out of them. Or, maybe Spinelli can’t hear whatever it is that Jason’s saying because of the rush of blood in his ears.

 

When Jason leans closer, his blue eyes sparkling with concern, Spinelli’s breath catches in his throat, and his heart hammers, almost painfully against his ribcage. He feels shaky and faint, and the words of his fortune cookie turn round and round in his mind, teasing him as they rearrange themselves: modest in speech…exceeds in action; modest in speech…action; superior man in action…

 

Before he fully registers what it is that he’s doing, Spinelli leans into Jason, relishing the man’s warm breath as it ghosts over his lips. He comes to himself as his lips brush across Jason’s, his hands cupping Jason’s jaw, fingers gently squeezing.

 

Spinelli hadn’t planned on kissing Jason, but when Jason doesn’t pull back, instead moaning and opening his mouth, leaning into Spinelli’s touch, Spinelli deepens the kiss, and twines his fingers through the man’s shorter hair. It’s a languid, leisurely kiss, and Spinelli can taste the tangy sweet and sour sauce on Jason’s tongue. It’s heady, and the earlier dizziness that Spinelli felt increases. He feels like he’s the earth to Jason’s sun – orbiting around the center of his universe.

 

Sparks, like fireworks on the fourth of July, crowd his vision, and Spinelli can almost feel them bursting inside of him. He wonders if Jason feels the same, and worries that maybe his mentor doesn’t, that, maybe Jason is horrified that Spinelli’s kissing him, and he’s just being polite in not pushing him away.

 

When he pulls back, because he needs to breathe, Spinelli’s almost afraid to look at Jason. Afraid that he’ll see hatred and disappointment reflected in the man’s brilliant, blue eyes. Afraid that the real reason Jason didn’t tell him about his faked death was because he hated Spinelli.

 

Jason’s thumb traces Spinelli’s lips, and the man’s forehead is resting against his, Jason’s breathing heavily.

 

“Spinelli,” Jason’s voice is hushed, and there’s a quality of awe in it that has Spinelli lifting his gaze. What he sees in Jason’s eyes isn’t anger, or displeasure, but something that he’d never thought he’d see in the other man’s eyes – unabashed love.

 

“Stone Cold,” Spinelli winces at how small his voice sounds, “I’m…that is,” he clears his throat, “the Jackal is…”

 

Before he can get the rest of his apology out, Jason surges forward, capturing Spinelli’s mouth in a kiss, framing his face with his hands. The kiss is both gentle and greedy, and it makes Spinelli feel like he’s floating. By the time that Jason pulls away, relinquishing Spinelli’s mouth, Spinelli’s forgotten what it is that he wanted to say.

 

Jason coughs and clears his throat. There’s a blush creeping up his neck, and he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, now that he’s released Spinelli’s face. The shy smile that’s gracing the older man’s lips is uncharacteristic of him, and, feeling pity for the man, Spinelli reaches over and grasps Jason’s hands in his own.

 

Jason’s eyes dart up to Spinelli’s. There’s an apology mixed in with what can only be described as blatant lust mirrored in Jason’s eyes. His eyes, a clear sky blue, are easy to get lost in, and Spinelli wonders why he hasn’t kissed Jason before now.

 

“Don’t apologize,” Jason says, “not for this.”

 

Spinelli nods, and offers Jason a smile. “You’re…okay with this?” There’s a tiny spark of hope that Spinelli is fearful of allowing to grow, because Jason might be toying with him, after all, the man had let him believe that he was dead for close to a year.

 

“Yes, and, while I’d like to continue kissing you,” Jason says, shooting a narrowed look at him, “you need to eat. You’re nothing but skin and bones…”

 

Jason raises a forkful of sweet and sour chicken up to Spinelli’s mouth and raises an eyebrow when Spinelli frowns at it. Jason pauses, mid-forkful, and Spinelli slams his mouth shut. His stomach churns when Jason’s face falls, and he looks away.

 

“I’m sorry,” Jason says. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you, but I was worried that you’d get caught up in everything, and...I…Spinelli,” his voice cracked, “there wasn’t a day that didn’t go by where I didn’t miss you.”

 

Sighing dramatically, and rolling his eyes, Spinelli opens his mouth and takes the offered food. When he’s rewarded for his obedience with a kiss, he’s more than willing to let Jason continue feeding him. For the first time in months, the thought of eating doesn’t turn his stomach, and Spinelli ponders the words of his fortune cookie, suddenly grateful that he chose action over speech.

 


End file.
